"The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make Heaven of Hell, and a Hell of Heaven." (John Milton)
He could smell it outside the hallways -- rank and rancid was its approach, like corpses rapping on the door. He never let go of her once during the night, letting her cry into his shoulder, calming a storm in her spirit as wrathful as the storm raging outside in the skies of Via Marea.
He himself was not crying. He was thinking, to be exact. Watching the door, waiting, and thinking. He was running his hands through her hair, green as summer's grass, smelling of lavender, whispering children's rhymes into her ear to soothe her unease. They stayed like this for most of the night.
He glanced at the window, at the greying of the sky. First light was upon them and the storm had passed, yet he dreaded what was to come. He looked at the doors again, at the light from under it peering into the room like a curious child. He shut his eyes at the vision.
He shifted his beloved to his other shoulder to have a good look at her face. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was calm. Was she sleeping? It is better if she were. He leaned close to her ear and whispered an ardent, 'I love you, I shall see you again,' in the sing-song whisper of the Elven tongue.
He kissed her softly on the lips, and then he broke her neck.
Gavril hates the rain. He hates this rain. It reminds him too much of a dream -- of a storm of steel-tipped arrows, relentlessly pelting the walls of the monastery. Its very noise drenching his mind in anxiety, flooding every cell of his body with unrest.
He could not stand another second of it. He threw back his sheets and walked over to the northern window, parting the thick velveteen drapes that muffled the sounds of the storm in his chambers. His restlessness was fueled even stronger by the sudden sharp onslaught of rain beating on glass, and the flickering light of the candle by the window does nothing to quell his anxiety. He blew it out, letting darkness overtake his mind, allowing the cold to enfold his skin.
Tomorrow was the Initiation, and he feels naught else but fear. Here in the black pitch of his chambers, with the sounds of the storm whirling as a cyclone would in his shadowed walls -- here in the most secret chambers of his heart, he can say it. 'I am afraid.' He stepped closer to the window and laid his palm against the cool glass -- a wall of nothing but waves and waves violent water. 'I am afraid,' he said again, a little louder. The rain beat harder against the glass as if in answer to the squalling in his mind. He stepped away from the window and closed the drapes. The storm suddenly seemed far away leaving him strangely feeling bereft and empty, all at once alone with his fear.
'Gavril?' a voice echoed from the entrance to his chambers. The darkness lifted.
'I am here, Eloise,' he said without looking.
'Did your candle burn out? I shall fetch you a new one...'
'No, no, I blew it out. I could not sleep.' He walked over to his drawers and slipped on a soft tunic.
Eloise opened the door, letting the light from the hallways scatter the shadows in Gavril's chamber. She drifted over quietly to where he was, took his hand and kissed it. 'Are you thinking about the Initiation, beloved? It is nothing but ceremony and fanfare. You need not worry about it.'
'I am not,' he lied, 'worried about the Initiation, Eloise.' He pulled her closer and planted a kiss on her lips, as he so often does when he lies to her about such things. 'I am fine,' he'd say after combat exercises, when he is weary and bruised to the bone, and he'd kiss her. 'It was wonderful,' he'd say after they made love, all night and under the stars, and he'd kiss her. He'd believe for a few seconds, and for a few seconds, he wouldn't be lying. Until the kiss was over.
She trusted him, regardless; and held him, regardless. Eloise has been his superior during his century-long stay in the monastery as a White Mage. She was an exceptional teacher, and he was an exceptional student. 'Empathy,' she whispered into his ear, 'is aligning yourself with the soul of another.' She was standing behind him, left hand on left shoulder, right arm outstretched, parallel to his. Their fingers twined at the meeting of their hands, palms resting on the rough bark of a dying tree. Winter was shedding its thick, white coat, and the continents were abloom in the advent of spring. 'Learn to look at someone and feel how he feels -- and heal from the inside. Your magic will do the rest.'
He knew what empathy was. 'You exist,' he simply had to think -- and believe it, even if it was a lie, and his magic would flare into being. The tree yawned awake, engulfed in golden light, coming back to life. The air smelled of green leaves and sunlight, and Eloise was pleased. 'You exist,' he told Eloise that afternoon, and it was as if his heart locked in place. He was held completely breathless by the solidity of his words at that moment, and so did she. Since then, they became inseparable.
They held each other in the dark. He, stroking her long, silver locks, inhaling not just her skin, but the very essence of her; she, running her fingers through his short, green hair, passing on what warmth and comfort she can spare. The storm raged on miles and miles from where they were. 'We shall leave Via Marea tomorrow, light of my life,' he promised. And with but a thought, he pushed the door of his chambers close, letting the darkness and the sound of the rain swallow their forms.
The forest was breathing, he could feel it as he ran -- the dense air, inhaling and exhaling, beating against his chest. He was in a panic as his eyes darted from shadow to shadow, searching for patches of moonlight in every groove, every snatch of vine, and avoiding it. He stopped for a moment at a clearing and silenced his senses, reaching out with his thoughts across the woods as he was trained to do, looking for signs of life. His mind was a searchlight, as much as a seeker as the one being sought.
He found it -- south from where he was. He started running again, careful to keep to the shadows, underneath the sound of his heart pounding madly in his head. At the back of his mind, he knew exactly what he was going to find. He wanted so much to deny it, however nearer every step he took brought him to the reality of things.
And then there it was, quick and sudden as a dagger through the gut, as blanketing as sin. 'No, no, no, no, no...' he said, the denial as real as the body in front of him.
The one on the ground turned his head and blinked, despite the blood on his eyes; he smiled, despite the pain wracking his body. 'I am glad you are safe,' he whispered.
To the one standing, the voice was a chorus of angels, a ray of hope. His mind fought, newly reinforced. He knelt beside the body of his fallen comrade. 'You will not die today,' he said, as he began gathering the other one's body to his arms.
'Don't be silly, you. Leave me here. You have to go before they catch you. Leave for Par'Talucca and tell the others what transpired. They should be ready.'
'No, you keep quiet! You are not doing this to me...' but already his mind was wavering. The other one's body suddenly felt too heavy, the failure of their mission started breaking through his resolve, like hammer on thick glass.
But then again, the other one was dead before he could say anything else. An odd taste spread through his tongue, worming its way down his throat. Suddenly he'd had enough of killing. He'd had enough of blood. The hardness of the dagger hilt on his hands was distasteful. He hated everything he was, being Dhan, being Human, being alive. He hated life. He laid his comrade down and closed his eyes, and stayed as he was for a very long time, he never noticed the approach of a unit of Guardians around him.
He looked at the other one's face -- they had only known each other a few weeks, but they had become quite close. Before he knew it, he fell in love, though the other one felt nothing more than honest to goodness friendship. He kissed the dead one's lips ardently, as if he were alive. He did not even feel the cold steel as it was thrust mercilessly into his body.
Gavril was wrenched from his trance-like stupor as he finished healing the Guardian. They'd just come back to the guild barracks from a reconnaissance mission to the Myrtle Woods as their Guild Master had received reports of a rival guild's movements of setting up an encampment near their territory. This was not true, but they did find something else.
'Is it true, what they are saying?' It was Eloise, as she sidled herself by Gavril. She was not called for the mission, having another of her own. A trip to the Spire of Redemption, he thinks, or something else. He doesn't ask. He never does.
'Yes, there weren't any Black Dragons in Myrtle Woods. The southern guilds must be astir, thinking the northern alliance has been renewed, and are moving.' He said this as he finished with the Guardian, withdrawing golden light back into his fingers. He thought it was a simple fleshwound at first, but it was invenom, and it killed the Human. He had to channel a complete resurrection -- unpleasant, even for one with skills such as his. He never looked forward to fetching a soul after it has crossed ways away from the veil. He closed his eyes and let out a slow stream of breath, as he often does after casting that particular spell.
'Thank you,' the Guardian muttered as he stood back up. He did not even look at Gavril, but he did not mind. Gavril sat back on the ground and tilted his head upwards, concentrating on regenerating his manna. He felt someone touch his hand. Eloise. He'd almost forgotten she was there.
'It doesn't ever feel good, does it?' she said, twining her fingers with his. He was so used to this, so used to her flesh, her skin, her smell by his side. It was comforting, even if he forgets sometimes.
'No, it never does,' he sighed. He eased her head onto his chest as he put his arms around her. 'I am never sure if I should thank you for teaching me how to do it, all these years,' he mock-chided her as he always does.
'You would have found a way to learn it for yourself, love. You can never stand secrets.'
'I can't, can I?' he said wistfully, a little guiltily. He's kept secrets from Eloise, of course, but he's good at keeping them. He'd always been silent, and she'd never asked. There was an implicit trust between them that cannot be severed no matter what, it seems, and Gavril cannot be sure if all he's done is take advantage of it or respect it. He's staying with Eloise, regardless. He cannot imagine centuries without her. Would she be doing the same? he thinks. Keeping secrets? Or, the better question would be, Should it matter?
'What are you thinking of, light of my life?' she asked, sensing the restlessness in his mind. 'Your breath quickens quite a bit when you are thinking very deeply. Is something troubling you about the Guardian?'
Gavril responded with a kiss on Eloise's forehead. She knows he isn't thinking about the Guardian -- she knows him enough to keep a safe distance from the core of his thoughts and let him speak for himself. He thanked the cosmos for her tact and presence even more. 'It is nothing significant, love. You know I always get this way after a resurrection, filtering memories not mine. You have always been better at it than me.'
'Mmm. I remember your first time. You were never able to sleep for days, nor did you eat. I thought you'd go mad.'
'I thought I would. It was a bad idea resurrecting a Dark Elf as my first time -- centuries of thoughts and memories... and that fire! I thought my skin was burning.'
Eloise chuckled despite the thought. 'I remember. You ran naked into the river and you never wanted to leave. You almost drowned -- and you almost drowned me!' She laughed, finally, as she punched her lover playfully on the chest.
'I wouldn't dream of hurting you, love,' Gavril said without a thought, surprising himself by meaning it too.
'That is sweet, and I am hungry,' Eloise said as she stood, dusting her worn leather tasset. 'Come on, I found an out of the way tavern near Valor's Trace. I heard a really good bard was playing there tonight. I want to get good seats.' Eloise is very beautiful, Gavril thought. He pushed the wayward, troubling dreams and memories not entirely his aside and took her hand.
She couldn't run even if she wanted to -- and oh, how she wanted to. She was skittish and restless, but her feet were bound. Half-Elves weren't meant for confinement. They weren't meant to be shackled like this, like caged vargs howling in the moonlight. She couldn't stand a minute of it.
But it just stretched on and on. She could have been held captive for a night, or it could have been years. Either way her will was breaking. She needed to be free! She scratched at her ankles, whimpering like a lost kitten, her breath mewling in panic.
The door to her cell rattled. Her ears perked at the sound, and she retreated to the shadowy corners of the squalid prison. It is safer here, she thought.
Against her most fervent hopes, the door opened, hinges squealing in rust, metallic things rattling like despair. 'I smell you, Half-Breed,' a voice said, gruff and threatening. She felt a cold finger snake up her throat. She stayed silent. A mouse, a mouse, a mouse is what I am, she thought.
'Come on then, you can't get away. You know it.' She heard its lumbering approach, its tongue licking its lips, and the shadows thickening around her. She remembered nights like this -- memories suddenly washing over her like an unholy river -- when her body was desecrated again and again. She clawed at her ankles again and again as she used to do until she drew blood. At first she wanted to escape. Now she only does it because the stinging pain numbs away everything else.
The large form was now upon her. She screamed.
Gavril woke up sweating. The dreams have been becoming more and more frequent now -- days apart, when it was weeks, months even years before. Eloise was alert to her lover's movements, and in a second, her healing hands were upon his brow. Physician, heal thyself, Gavril thought bitterly as he lay back down, trying to control his breathing.
'Hush now, lover, it's alright. It was just a dream. Another one of those dreams. Let me take them away.'
Gavril looked at his lover, his centuries-long companion with a mixture of love and pity. He wanted so much to push her away, to spare her from the hell he's been going through all his life, but the female is as stubborn as a middle-aged Human male. There is no moving her, even if he almost killed her once.
It was the day before they were exiled, seven years past. His visions have started to take over his senses more outwardly now. He was the Priest assigned to the unit with their Guild Master, and it was his first time to be in his presence, this Templar.
It was an attack on Ash'kelen, to take back their stronghold from a rival guild, but the assault was a failure. As soon as Gavril cast a healing spell on their Master Templar, his body convulsed uncontrollably and he sounded off a feral howl. It was throat-searing, this howl that went on and on, and at first, no one dared go near him. Not even any from the opposing guild.
Eloise was by his side in a heartbeat, summoning golden light to blanket her ailing lover. This was not something new to her eyes -- she'd seen him like this before, but not this violent. He'd always been a magnificent healer, but she supposed that came at a price. Everytime Gavril healed, he would take on parts of the most hurtful memories of the spirit he's healing. Many times, without his knowledge, Eloise had helped him with her own magic. This time is no different, she thought to herself again and again as she gathered the thrashing form of her lover into her arms.
She loved him so intensely, that she did not move away when Gavril brought up his shield and bashed the hardest side of it against her temple. She was still on the floor when Gavril did it again, howling like a fearsome beast. Gone were the colors of summer green on his eyes, replaced only by wild, untamed gold.
He brought up his shield one more time, shadowing the paralyzed form of Eloise by his feet when the old Templar brought up his warhammer, knocking the shield off Gavril's grip. As soon as his eyes met the Templar's, the raging in his mind dissipated. For a few seconds, his form took on that of the old Templar's himself, and then he was Gavril again -- breathless, his hair now a shock of white.
There had been no bloodshed that day -- both Guild Masters were aware enough not to challenge a power older than they were, and an uneasy truce was settled. Until Gavril was exiled, that is.
But Gavril cared for nothing else but Eloise. He picked her up and he walked away, not bothering to use any portal stones, he felt only compelled to walk. He thought about why, in the centuries they've been together, he'd never healed Eloise once. Now was his chance, regardless. As he disappeared from the questioning eyes of everyone in Rohan, he spread thin skin of gold onto his lover's body. He was not afraid to take on Eloise's painful memories. He knew what he would see.
The air parted in the dark cave where the two White Elves dwelt for the past seven years. It felt as if a candle had been lit, but the shadows never lifted. The couple remained asleep. The female sighed as if she were in a most pleasant dream, and perhaps she was.
The newly-arrived being floated near the female's ear and blew air into it, as one would breathe into a seashell. The effect was instantaneous -- the female died in her sleep, dreaming the sweetest of dreams.
The being of phosphorescence now moved to the male, caressing his long white hair before kissing his brow. She put her lips onto his ear, gently, but before she could let out a stream of air, the air parted once again. This time, it felt as if the sun itself had imploded. But, as with the first, the darkness never lifted. 'I pity you, sister,' said a voice, male, like the sound of dying embers.
The white spirit spoke naught a word, but she -- for it was a female -- looked up and met the eyes of the other one. That is, had the other one eyes in such pitch blackness. If it did, it would have been bi-colored, crimson and cerulean. Mad, and volatile. All these thoughts, the white spirit kept in mind, and she held her tongue.
'You would not speak, I see. It has been millennia, I grow weary of your vow of silence. Why do you not simply let the madness take over, beloved twin? Why did you have to pass on your madness to an innocent mortal Elf-Child? Do you feel no remorse for your deeds, sister?' the voice chided, although it did not hint any trace of reproach. Only... mirth. The careless elation of one who has triumphed.
'You are no different than I, sister. Eldest is no different than I. The Wind Dancer is no different than I. The Guardian of the World is no different than I. Even the Great Dragon is no different than I. We are all mad. Only I revel in it. Yes, yes, yes, yes. All-Father knew it, that is why he disappeared. Shadow-Mother knew of it, and she would not look upon us anymore. No, no, no, no, not anymore.' He was dancing and prancing around the cave now, trudging on the lifeless body of the Elf female.
The white spirit drew in the body of the Elf male close to her, as a mother would her baby. She was looking defiantly at the dancing form of one she has called brother, and she resolved not to let his touch defile her child. She put her lips near the Elf's ear.
'Eloise,' it called out weakly.
Both the white spirit and the dancing flame stopped as they watch the hands of the Elf male grope for the hands of the Elf female. 'Eloise, are you asleep?'
'She is dead,' the spirit of flame, now still, said flatly. 'Dead, dead, dead.'
'Dead?' the Elf said, as if he did not know what it meant. 'But that is good news. I feel my own death cradling me. Eloise and I will be together once more. What are you waiting for? Usher me out.'
The white spirit glared at the spirit of flame, sending him away. A cool wind encircled the walls of the cave. She put her lips on the Elf's ear, and blew.
//END
